I heard you whispering to the back
last night about skipping town.
You thought he wouldn’t tell me? The spine
can hold no secrets, tell him something sweet
or horrible and he’s off dancing like a hurricane again,
singing devotion, humming everything you told him.
You know how this works, the eyes lure
the tongue prays over the prey, you come
and do what the body wants.
Yeah, we blame you for our lonely,
make you the black sheep of this gang we call “self”.
Every body needs a villain, you fit the profile: crooked,
crooked smile, all that ugly and the bones still call for you.
Gagged more names in this bed
than the hands, they only want to hold
no choke, but you dream
rock and metal, dream clog and build
yourself into a tower, make the blood climb
till the draws fall
then you and the teeth make massacre
of every grey set of flesh and fat
that journeys too far into all this “this” that we all agreed
to call “I”. You “I” too. We know you mean well
trying to make some sun for this dark thing,
and of course I am begging you to stay,
but sometimes can you not rise?
Don’t always need the revolution of someone else’s skin
can’t you see the city’s still burning from last time?